


Nothing left but ash (and a man)

by Malicei



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark fluff, Fallen Angels, FrUK, M/M, Oneshot, Self-Harm, as in they have to cut off their wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 01:38:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3710029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malicei/pseuds/Malicei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oneshot. Darkish fluff.</p>
<p>Arthur and Francis are fallen angels. There's not much more to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing left but ash (and a man)

**Author's Note:**

> I've never been religious, so everything I know about Christianity and angels comes from popular culture. We'll just pretend they're pop culture angels, okay?
> 
> Just a little shameless self-indulgence.
> 
> (NOTE: I don't encourage self-harm. Virtual hug to any readers who do, or did. I'm not here to judge.)

He hadn't expected Francis on his doorstep. There was no holy presence, no rustle of wings to warn him.

Not like he could have done anything even if he'd been warned. Even now, his powers are fading. The names of his comrades, the people he's fought with for millennia, they're all slipping from his mind.

Already, Francis' true name is lost to him. But Arthur gave up that privilege when he cast his old life away along with his true name.

Now, he's simply Arthur Kirkland, one of the fallen children.

It's too late to run, and they both know it.

"Come to drag me home?" Arthur jokes weakly. "Not much of me to drag home, don't really see why you bother."

There is no replying grin on Francis' face - and that's to be expected, they were never made for feelings in the first place. But Francis had always loved too much, and Arthur had gotten used to that charming smile in his human form. He had claimed it was only an act to reassure the humans, but Arthur had thought-

_Well. Well.  At the very least, it was a beautiful lie._

"Why?" Francis asks, face blank and perfect as ever.

Arthur blinks. "Why what?"

"You knew you would be cast down. What I want to know is why? Why fall willingly?"

He's spent too long on Earth. "Better than unwillingly, isn't it?"

And that finally stirs up something in that ridiculously pretty face. If he didn't know better, he'd call the angel vain. And there's something incredibly satisfying in dragging Francis down to his level.

Francis' face is scrunched up like Arthur had just crawled out of hell stinking like he'd rolled around in sulphur. "You idiot!" he spat. "What could be worth, all, all, _this?!_ " Francis cried out, spreading his arms out incredulously as he pointed out his tiny box of a flat.

Arthur sighs, crossing his arms. "S'pose I'm in my rebellious phase." he deflects. "I just couldn't stand listening to dear old dad ordering me about anymore. I just couldn't."

Francis' voice is pained. "You could have continued to hide it, as I did. You didn't have to go so far. You didn't have to fall."

He can't contain his surprise in the fact that Francis would actually admit to it. "Francis!" Arthur hisses, eyes frantically checking for people around (a useless human gesture, Francis would have felt their auras). "You shouldn't say such blasphemous words where others could hear!"

Francis snorts, raising an eyebrow. "I didn't think you would care." he mutters, wryly.

"I don't- but it's not about me. I've already fallen. I won't see you fall too because of me, Francis."

"…Ha. You won't need to worry about that!" Francis laughs bitterly. "I've already accepted my fate."

"Francis-"

"You think that you're the only one who's a bad boy, hm?" Francis said softly, winking. "I'm only waiting, now."

_And what in hell's name can he say to that?_

"Idiot. Idiot, idiot, _idiot!_ _You giant bloody idiot._ " He takes a moment to breathe - he's human now. He can breath, even if it's the uneven breathing of constrained hysteria. "Well, come on in, then. I think we could both use a drink."

"…I hate tea."

Arthur scowls. " _Alcohol_ , Francis. You've spent too much time with your beloved Frenchies, if you're forgetting the nuances of English."

Perhaps that was a bit cruel, because it seemed to hit home with the way Francis flinched. _(So susceptible to emotions - how did it take so long for Arthur to realise that Francis would fall regardless?)_ It was true, though - it was only as angels they were capable of understanding all the human tongues.

Arthur has always been strangely defective like that, so insecure in his own flaws that he overcompensated.

Francis' face twists with a very human hurt. Before Arthur realises it, he's moving forward and twisting around Francis' back.

Arthur has the joy of seeing shock ripple over Francis' face before Francis pulls them both inside and almost smashes the faces together in a desperate kiss.

* * *

 

It's almost vulgar, the way Francis shudders, closing his eyes.

There is something perverse in the way Francis flinches with each feather plucked, tip dipped in a droplet of red blood. Understandable - this is essentially self-mutilation. Arthur's just helping speed Francis' fall along.

_(Angels don't bleed.)_

With each feather removed from Francis' holy presence, it turns dark and crumbles into something finer than ash.

(Arthur takes a dark sort of joy in blowing that ash off his fingertips, Francis' expression unreadable.)

In the end, there is nothing left but ash and bone. Francis hadn't been kidding when he said that he was already falling. The muscles that would have allowed for flight were atrophied and withered into nothingness at Arthur's touch.

The bones, well. They're a little trickier. They're too hard to explain (they can't exactly go to a human doctor) and so, it's up to Arthur.

Francis is lucky. It's always more painful when you have to amputate yourself.

* * *

 

Francis weeps when his voice goes after all the screaming. He locks himself up in Arthur's cellar with all the wine, and won't look Arthur in the eye when he emerges two days later, when his stomach reminds him of his new-found mortality.

Though Francis might claim otherwise, Arthur does have some tact. So he doesn't comment on the lack of wine in his cellar and the little accidents Francis might had had whilst coming to terms with the needs of his new body.

True, this is something they've chosen. But they will never stop feeling the loss of a world they once knew, and the loss of everything they once were. There's always the  sensation of phantom limbs.

(Once Arthur sleepwalks, forgetting he can't fly. Francis almost has a heart-attack when he sees the broken bones at the bottom of the staircase jutting out of his skin in a way that recalls a different set of bones that were broken.)

It's worth it, though.

It's worth it with the way Francis laughs and jokes and annoys Arthur like nothing else. It's worth Francis' tendency to flirt with every sentient being on the planet regardless of age and gender (people found it…weird, to say the least, when Francis hit on that hundred-year-old man with complete sincerity. Something about being a former angel with jurisdiction over love. Arthur put up with it as long as Francis always came back to Arthur.)

It's worth Francis losing the ability to speak English and the way they had to communicate in secret smiles and held hands until they learnt each other's languages the hard way.

It's worth it to see the way Francis' face scrunches up in bliss, as they partake in sin together.

It's worth it when Francis' eyes crinkle into a position telling of a genuine smile, free from angelic restriction.

_Despite everything they've lost, they're happy._

**Author's Note:**

> CRACKVERSION
> 
> ...Arthur pulls each feather out, one by one. Francis raises an eyebrow. "Your technique is terrible. I feel like you're trying to pluck me like a chicken."
> 
> "Oi, if you hate it so much, you can get a real chicken farmer to do it. I bet you secretly like it, you perverted bastard, you."
> 
> "Oh, yes." Francis mutters, deadpan. "Oh. Wow. Unfh. Pluck me like a chicken, Arthur. That's it. So good. Cluck cluck cluck."
> 
> Francis entirely deserves the slap in the face he delivers, Arthur feels.


End file.
